Lavender fields and Gorges L'Ardeche

Simiane La Rotonde

At the other end of the Gorges du Verdon, is Moustiers Sainte Marie. For centuries it has perched on the top of a hill wearing a church as its crown.  The cobbled stairs leading up to the church have been worn to a treacherous polish by millions of tourist tootsies. The inside of the church so gloomy it was hard to see anything except a glowing gold leaf altar.

I wasn’t wearing grippy shoes and clung onto the handy metal rail as I made the downward trek. I felt for the woman in front who was creeping in a similar fashion but carrying a baby in a sling.

Meanwhile, crouched below the hill, is the aire du camping cars. All the big white boxes are arranged in a circle – facing an empty centre eyeballing each other. A popular place – the latecomers were pointed to the overflow area for “Norman-no-mates”.
We were on a lavender hunt. It was a bit early in the season but ever hopeful we set off across the Valensole plateau. A most fabulous drive, the sun had warmed the flowers and the wind blew lavender fragrance in the cab windows. The colours, the colours, great blocks of purple and mauve, red pools of poppies and sunshine fields of rape.  

Sometimes our travels are a bit serendipitous, we drove through Reillanne then turned around, with some difficulty, and headed back to spend the night. It is a truly delightful village. We were peering into the tourist office through the glass door, deciding that once again it was probably the day that it closed, when the door opened and we almost fell on top of the lovely lady in charge of the office. Claire was ex-pat English who plied us with many maps and instructions to visit a nearby village. 

Reillanne

Reillanne had a large square that was being used as a venue for a dance class. The houses were painted in all sorts of Karen Walker washed out pastels with contrasting shutters and flowers cascading out of pots and gardens. There were cafes with music and the village looked like a place with real people, young people, living there, not just a clutch of holiday houses. I could move to this lovely place in the Hautes Alpes region!

The next morning we set off and followed Claire’s instructions but stopped – the road indicated was no better than a farm track, and there was a ‘chausses deforme’ sign which meant the road was even worse than usual so we gave that opportunity a miss and carried on to a couple more hilltop villages for a quick toot. 

Reillanne

Return to Roussillon. It is a town built of reddish stone. There were ochre formations in sunset stripes along the wind and rain sculpted cliffs. The pigment from the clay has been used for centuries and was once the source of the town’s economy but don’t touch it – or it will stain your clothes forever. Tourists are now the towns fortune - twangy American accents rang out across the tangle of quaint lanes and shops are selling what our friend Tim calls ‘fluff’.

Rousillon

Rousillon

Sadly we left the Hautes Alpes of Provence and entered the wide open spaces on our way to Vallon Pont D’Arc at the end of the Gorges L’Ardeche (Ardeche Gorge). Pont D’Arc is a stunning natural stone bridge formed over the eons by water and spans the Ardeche river. Eagles soar on the thermals above it and swallows are swooping into their nests underneath it.

Gorges d'Ardeche

The Ardeche a serpentine spirulina-smoothie slithers between towering cliffs. From a vantage point high above the river we can see parties of kayakers moving quite quickly around bends, looking like tiny toy boats.

Did I mention ‘kayak’? Did I hear the word ‘kayak’ on many occasions? I wasn’t a happy camper or sailor at the thought of kayaking and then the kayak rental man talked about all the rapids. Zut alors! Sacre bleu!

Again – long story short, I packed our baguette, camembert and bottle of water into the white screw-top barrel and Stuart firmly strapped it on the craft. ‘Keep a little bottle of water out so we can drink it while we travel’. ‘OK’.

Jane with plastic fantastic

The first set of rapids looked fine as we approached but then we were in a maelstrom – it was more than ‘zut alors’. Water crashed over the bow soaking me through, and where was that little bottle? I didn’t think the man in the stern was paying enough attention – how could he see what I was seeing? I didn’t want to join those poor unfortunates who walked along the riverbank looking for their piece of plastic fantastic. Anyhow, we made it through the 24km unscathed and a bus took us and a trailer full of yellow plastic craft back to our motor camp on the way. 

Pont D'Arc 

The washing was getting more than pressing and the camp man let me use his washing machine to do the biggies while we washed the smalls by hand. Stuart’s handy washing line was strung between the trees and cleanliness was restored.

After a random consultation of our very detailed map of France I settled on Vogue as our destination, its name had a nice ring to it. Luckily it more than met our expectations, and a few others as well – it was Sunday after all.

Dining out was on the cards, and I had a very strange starter, an éclair stuffed with a slice of terrine and garnished inside with swirls of lavender coloured (blueberry) cream. Sprinkled around were pieces of bright green sponge cake (pistachio) and small strips of bacon. I had read the menu correctly but was surprised all the same to see that nothing was lost in translation. I had the ‘house aperitif’ and Stuart declined my suggestion of biere pression (draft beer) and chose instead ‘biere Monaco’ from the list of beverages. Was he surprised to get a bright red beer with pink froth on top! It is made from lager, red cordial, lemonade …. and tasted a lot like the house aperitif.

We are going to follow the Rhone northward and see what it brings. Au revoir.

Lake Orta, Gorges du Verdon

 Lazet-Ubaye, France - the camping car 'aire' had a fantastic view of the lake

The GPL story – it is the weekend and we couldn’t find anywhere (bar travelling on the autostrada in an undefined direction) that was open to supply the gas we use for cooking and heating water. We checked into a campsite and plugged into electric. The campsite we took was on the side of Lake Orta. We were so lakeside that we had our own set of swimming pool type stairs to descend into the lake. So, long story short, we spent two nights beside the fantastic Lake Orta . The truck we hired has the same gas system we had set up in our own truck before arriving in NZ. It is a refillable bottle so we can travel Europe without changing bottle type. Not only cheaper but more convenient- until you strike a weekend.

Lake Orta

Lake Orta was delightful, we visited Sacro Monte. It is a UNESCO world heritage site on a hillside overlooking the lake. Spiralling around the hillside are 20 chapels containing statues and frescoes portraying the life of St Francis of Assisi – he is following me on this trip.  The first chapel was built in 16^th century and the last 100 years later. The perfectly landscaped park surrounding the chapels contains scotch pines, broadleaf trees and an avenue of hornbeams.

Orta

The time to depart Italy had arrived – we headed to France crossing an alpine route. A different route than we took last time, shelling out toll after toll. We snaked down a steep descent from Italy into Briancon in the Hautes-Alpes region, the truck was running on engine braking and regular brakes but holding back to avoid over-heating. Hairpin bend after hairpin bend was negotiated before we arrived at upper Briancon – phew.

Briancon

We were greeted by ancient grim fortifications strung out across the hilltops, a reminder of times that were not peaceful. The main street of old Briancon has a channel in the middle that runs with water, its nickname is the grand gargoyle, and has existed since 1345. Lower Briancon was a congestion of children just released from school, roadworks and a whole circus occupying the area we intended to spend the night in, so we pressed on to a municipal campground about 20 km away.

Leaving Italy - Just Go

Our route planning is quite ad hoc and a day later we ended up in Digne les Bains. I was sure we stayed there before on a non-motorhome trip and I was right! Please erase this town from my memory banks – it has no saving grace then, and still hadn’t anything to offer this time around. The only thing I gleaned was that ordering ‘café crème’ meant I got a latte. In my best schoolgirl French I asked the waiter, who put aside his cigarette, what another customer had ordered.  “Noisette” was the answer.  Yeah right, it is a small coffee with a ‘nut’ of fluffy milk on top. Must remember that for next time.

The Hautes Alpes area of Provence is up in the mountains and we headed to St Andre Les Alpes for a quick look-see. Nice place, we had a stroll around and watched children and their parents visiting the patissier on their way home to collect some after dinner treats. We did like likewise, walking away from the shop with a beautiful little carry-box.

The Gorges du Verdon, described the Grand Canyon of France - but first a stop over at Castellane at the eastern end of the gorge.
It met my criteria of gorgeousness, and the dedicated camping-car place was about 200 metres from the town square. There was a towering cliff with shrine atop looming over us and once again we were beside a river.

Dancers at Castellane tramshumence fete

Castellane has a Citroen museum that we took a look through, and there was also a transhumance (moving of livestock) fete while we were there. 

Traditional dancers, geese being shepherded by a border collie (who took his job very seriously, his eyes never left those geese) and unusual sheep breeds were on display. 
All sheep that are not NZ sheep look unusual to me. 

Fixing them geese with his steely doggy gaze 

We drove along the gorges of Verdon - taking in the 'Route des Cretes' - a narrow road  with many view points overlooking the gorge, at a dizzy level way below. We also walked a recommended scenic track that involved several tunnels. Huge birds of prey circled above - some had been re-introduced. 
We forgot our head-torch  and ended up relying on the torch in my iphone in the tunnels, never mind, it did the trick. 

Can't say it was one of the best hikes we have ever done but it was popular. The whole gorge route route was popular with endless streams of motorcycle enthusiasts touring in groups.  Given the narrow width of their vehicles you would have thought staying on their side of the road would have been easy.


We are heading off to explore the lavender routes in the Hautes Alpes region of Provence.

Gorges du Verdon

Chianti, Maggiore

Bevano, Lago Maggiore

Chocks away, some tanks filled and others empty, we hit the road northward - back to where we picked this little truck up – Tuscany, specifically the Chianti area.

Rows of vines stretching up the hillsides, pencil cypresses and the occasional umbrella pine are standard issue in the Chianti area. We made for Greve, a place we had previously enjoyed. It is known for Chianti Classico, demarked on the bottle with a black chook. The dark red wine is made from the Sangiovese grape and is very velvety and plummy. 

That evening we ate outside a restaurant offering typical Tuscan fare. The evening air was warm and we spent a little time chatting with other diners – Aussies, but when they speak your lingo, conversation comes easily. A nice change from my stuttering ‘mi dispiace, non parlo Italiano’ hoping the poor person can understand what I want.

Chianti area

Two nights in one place already! It meant time to move; wallets opened as we clicked through various toll gates on the motorway (autostrada). Quibbles have to be put aside as traveling any long distance in Italy without using the autostrada is like being in your own never-ending story.

The speed limit is 120km/hr, and in some places trucks are assigned to the inside lane, so the passing view is a wall of trucks. The autostradas need full concentration as stuff is happening everywhere, bum clenching time (for me).  I have seen a truck driver weaving across lanes as he concentrates on his smartphone – one foot on the dash. Generally though, things are orderly.

Lake Maggiore in the far north of Italy was glinting when we finally caught sight of it. We stopped in the vain hope of finding a light-weight blanket. No blanket, but Stuart found a length of plumbing pipe in a diameter not available in NZ. It was sawn in half and stowed in the small ‘garage’ at the back of the truck. It will be used to repair an “oops” that happened to Chausson on the Molesworth Road in NZ.

The Maggiore lakeside road passed spectacularly grand hotels and elegant Italian villas, similar to what I imagine George Clooney lives in, on Lake Como. The lake has steep craggy mountains streaked with snow as a distant backdrop and in the foreground are inhabited islands that have beautiful gardens and buildings.

The camp we stayed at in Baveno backed onto the lake and was close to a ferry landing, it was very full. We didn’t realise we had arrived during a series of holidays, but Miss Campground showed us where we should park and where we should face. The spirit level that lives in Stuart’s head said we should face the amenity block (as it usually does) but Signorina Campground said we need to face the lake and back a few inches and over a few inches . . .  the floor in the truck was on a bit of a slope and the spirit level wasn’t happy …..

Even your old bike needs a good lock

Isola Bella is the most beautiful island on the lake and has a palace that is open for visits. We had a leisurely stroll through it admiring the rooms and sculptured gardens compete with strutting white peacocks.

I walked around an elegant room with a ceiling 3 stories high  It held a conference of high representatives of Italy, France and the United Kingdom in April 1935, resulting in the agreement known as the Stresa Front, which was an attempt to avoid WWII. The town of Stresa is just a short ferry ride away. Princess Diana and husband as well as Napoleon and Josephine had also been hosted at the same palace.

We finished our visit to Maggiore with a ferry trip up to Locarno in Switzerland and caught a couple of trains, including a narrow gauge panoramic train through part of Switzerland back to our campground. A spectacular firework display was launched from a barge on the lake to celebrate Republic Day.

There is no particular plan of where to go next but we do need to fill up with GPL (gas) and head in the direction of the French Alps.

The Italian Lakes are a film makers ideal of a honeymoon destination. 

Computer says 'no' again

Umbrian countryside

We left Matera with a mental image of the blue building we should be looking for in Bari to book a passage for Greece. We had seen the photo on two blogs – Bari likes to keep things subtle and there was no sign anywhere for a big shipping ferry at the port and we were thankful people had helpfully shared their experiences of what to look for.

Bari also likes to make a puzzle of its roading network and before we had even hit the main chaos of roadworks and closed roads, we were in a quarry surrounded by clouds of dust and large noisy trucks. We followed a big truck that looked to be leaving and arrived back on the correct road.

Eventually we arrived at the port and squeezed past trucks from Bulgaria and Romania to find the mystical blue building – it was just like the photo – no logo or signs.  We parked right in front, but our expectant expressions changed when ‘computer says NO’.  No passages available for days.

Truffi houses, Alberobello

We re-booted, decided not to go to Greece but spend some time in Puglia. Lonely Planet said “Alberobello”, so off we went, satnav said “go up narrow street with badly parked Range Rover”. Two heads hanging out the windows checking the clearance – only just enough room before having to reverse back down a restricted entry street.  My job was standing in the street stopping traffic as I was in loco reversing-camera (which is a piece of %#*&^, Stuart says).

I was already off Alberobello and that was before I saw the parades of tour coaches and vendors of tat. All the tat seemed to be the same, and surely of a nature that no one would want.  

To be fair, Alberobello is unique with lots of Truffi houses cascading down the hillside. The Truffi houses are round with roofs made of flat overlapping stones. To avoid a large tax the roofs must be dismantled every so often (don’t know time frame) and rebuilt. Their appearance is somewhat hobbit like. 

Alberobello

We were looking for a bit of time out from travelling so off we set for the Adriatic coast.

We stopped for lunch near a beach in one truly abysmal town that had every layby filled with rubbish. We heard a vehicle pull up behind us. Nec minit, there was a knock on our door and three expat Kiwis living in Aus were chatting with us.  Our truck has large lettering -  New Zealand, Australia and Great Britain on the back and that caught their eye. Goodness knows there were NO other tourists, Italian or otherwise, within a 50km radius of the hideous place.

We stopped for a re-stock at my favourite chain, Lidl, there was a savvy stray dog who followed shoppers to their cars. It was obviously a move that had paid off in the past. Full up with good priced wine and beer plus assorted cheeses, we hit the highway. I kept seeing prostitutes on the roadside, I can’t imagine the life they must be forced to live, made even more miserable when standing in rain.

Lucera

Lucera was marked on our maps and in the Camperstop book as a town worth visiting. It is an old town with a large 14C castle and regulation Duomo. We found a good spot in front of the castle, sidled up to a large German Carthago motorhome as their unchosen friend, and made ourselves at home for the night with some nice basil and ricotta ravioli served with asparagus for dinner.

Jane paddling in the Adriatic

Still searching for the slice of paradise, we gave the coast a couple more chances but unfortunately we didn’t find an undiscovered gem, or any gem, come to that. 

The sea was a lovely temperature, but I was dismayed to see the amount of plastic washed up on the shores of the un-groomed beaches.

It was a very long drive to Norcia, the distance wasn’t great but it took a long time as there were no major roads in the area. The truck rattled and shook on the potholed roads and when we finally saw the turn off it was blocked. We had to carry on for another hour to the next turn off, we passed the reason for the road block – earthquake damage. Houses had collapsed down the hillsides and shipping containers were protecting the road from slips. When we finally reach the esteemed Norcia we found it red-zoned, and there were props and scaffolding holding up the ancient churches and medieval walls. Norcia is famous for truffles and salami made from acorn-fed local pigs which were on offer in the remaining shops. Temporary houses and temporary shops had been erected to accommodate the people affected by the earthquake.

Spoleto

We ticked off a few more pretty Umbrian towns with their ancient stone walls, immaculately swept marble streets and restored churches, and diners enjoying dinner in the warm evenings.  Assisi was the last one.

It was hot as we climbed higher and higher to the Basilica. Sweat was trickling down my back as the temperature went past 30 degrees on my way to see St Francis’ tomb. We were not by ourselves that hot Sunday afternoon as tour buses disgorged masses of sightseers and pilgrims. But wait, there is more – more churches higher up and a fort or two as well. “I read that the view is really good from the top” himself said.

St Francis was born in Assisi in 1181 into a wealthy family before renouncing the pleasure seeking lifestyle to live a humble life in imitation of Christ. The glorious churches and robust souvenir industry we saw in Assisi are an ironic comment on Francis’ values.

Street scene

Chianti in Tuscany is calling and we have a little time up our sleeves given that Greece is off the agenda so we will head in that direction and see what it throws at us.

Under The Tuscan Clouds

Roma – bright and sunny. The breakfast lady at the hotel made a rose from a serviette for Stuart to give me for mothers’ day. When he handed it to me she cried ‘allora – you need to give baci (kiss).  The hotel was a short walking distance to the storico centro (historic centre). In no time we were at the Colesseum fending off the sellers of selfie sticks and scarves.

The Pope catching a few rays

We struggled with our cases, that are over burdened with electronic gear and devices, to the train. Our home for the next 9 weeks was waiting near San Gimignano in Tuscany and small panic started to set in as our GPS didn’t let us know how far we were from our stop – that plus the malfunctioning exit door made for a nervous trip. All was restored however that evening when we found a nice restaurant and a bottle of Chianti Classico. I had pasta purses containing pear and gorgonzola in a poppy seed, pinenut cream sauce while Stuart had gnocchi made from little purple potatoes in a saffron sauce.

A taxi delivered us to collect our white wagon with purple logos from the Rollerteam factory. It is a similar layout to Chausson but without the garage, so makes for less ass to swing around. We weren’t allowed to take it away however until I spent a penny. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised when our account showed we owed one penny and ‘computer says no’. I had to use my credit card to pay the penny before harmony was restored.

The camper is new and belongs to a British based company, it comes equipped with the basics that we need for a trip.  We were directed 4km up the road to a supermarket to buy the rest.  Twenty kilometres later we were back where we started without finding a supermarket. Should have used the devices!

Cortona is a hilltop town, the setting for the movie “Under the Tuscan Sun”. Absolutely gorgeous and immaculate. Art exhibitions, restored churches, little shops , nice cafes – just what ticks my checklists. We navigated there very successfully using 2 x GPS apps and 2.5 kilos of reference maps. (The other 2.5 kilos of books are waiting their turn.) The countryside has pencil cypress and those ‘mop top’ pines that are typical of Italy artfully placed across vistas coloured with poppies and fluffy barley.

Our old GPS has a penchant for narrow unpaved roads but we aren’t quite confident enough to cut the apron strings so we have both devices glued to the windscreen until we let the new guy take over and give ‘Karen’ the backseat.

Tuscany in May is very green, a different scene from late summer when everything is a dusty gold colour to match the houses. It seems like a different place to us altogether, no Tuscan sun though – little patches of blue but a lot of grey cloud.

Orvieto was hiding in the cloud when we arrived, we parked in the sosta (camp spot) at the base of the town, which is perched on a volcanic outcrop, and took the funicular into the stunning historic centre . Has to be one of THE best towns in Umbria and Italy.

It was in Orvieto that we chanced across “The most beautiful race in the world” – the Mille Miglia. Stuart was blown away. The opening act was a parade of new maxi-specced Ferraris and racing Mercedes rolling through the old streets.  The drivers obliged the crowds by letting rip some ear-splitting revs which reverberated off the ancient stone walls. Participation in the race is for cars built pre 1957 which had attended the original race on the Brescia-Rome round trip race.

80s Ferrari Testarossa - an older 'modern'

We waited in drizzle for the oldies to come through – vintage Alfa Romeos, Bughattis, gull wing Mercedes and other vintage racing cars passed us with inches to spare and it looked as if some drivers had tenuous control so I moved position.

 

Gull wings waiting their turn

The next morning was clear and bright as we unplugged our power, emptied the waste, took on fresh water and took to the pay-road (yes – Euros were spent) to get to Pompeii. We rattled and squeezed through the streets clogged with tour buses and their passengers. Pompeii was probably best seen as we managed it – in the very late afternoon. The site was vast – much bigger than I imagined and I started to glaze over after a while.  The sun was lowering as we made our way back to one of the grottier camps we have stayed at, and no love lost from madam in reception as I argued for possession of our passports.  I won that one but failed to get a receipt for payment.

Pompeiied out – we rattled our way (did I say the streets are in appalling condition) to a hypermarket to ponder the question of buying bikes.  We settled for a couple of deck chairs instead.

Pompeii street

After a very long trip trip to Venosa (again appalling roads with Stuart dodging the worst of the potholes and earthquake subsidence, we ended up in a sosta with 20 Dutch mohomes. They made us welcome (we are always glad to see the Dutch as they are mines of information and speak excellent English). In front of us was a view of the historic centre of Venosa, behind us was a carwash that the Italians must regard as a novelty as they washed well after dark. Dinner with squishing squirting noises.

Matera is about 70km from the eastern coast of Italy (near Bari) and I had wanted to see it after seeing a programme on the telly. It is one of the oldest towns in the world (people have lived here for over 7000 years). The town sits on a series of caves that used to house animals and fodder until the population outgrew available housing and people moved into the caves to live a peasant lifestyle. Conditions were poor and infant mortality was over 50%. In 1952 half the population of Matera (15,000) were forced to move out of the caves and into new government housing.

Matera

We walked the slippery marble streets of Matera viewing it from many angles along with a fair few other tourists as the caves are now the major drawcard for the town -  a bit of a turnaround in the fortunes of Matera.

Next stage - onto Greece.

Overlanders Way

Devils Marbles

Another BIG drive, from Alice Springs to Townsville which we did in stages. The longest part was on the Overlander’s Way which was the route taken by cattle drovers to move stock from Queensland to Northern Territory. The road is good but the scenery same-same. There are the termite mounds of course, quite a few wore clothes. Some looked almost realistic with hat, hair and tee-shirt. There is also roadkill and the carrion feeders to dodge. We passed lots of dead cows and kangaroos and one dead camel.  Live spotting is a big snake for Stu and an emu for me.

Road trains rocket past in the opposing direction; when it is my turn to drive I get as far over as I can and never stare at them in case I am sucked into their vortex. Mostly 55 metres long to our 7 and standing so high you can’t see the driver easily, they transport all sorts of essentials back and forth across the deserted Australian outback highways. High crosswinds and a rush of displaced air as they pass, has us hanging on to our steering wheel.

There are some cute settlements like Aileron and some not-so-cute like Tennant Creek where Stuart optimistically thought he would find a flat white coffee he could recognise, it all ended in tears.  

We stayed at a place called Devils Marbles with about 30 other campervans, there are huge circular concretions all around us, some balanced on top of others in stacks. This was the snake-spotting venue.

Friendly brolga

The settlement of Barkly Homestead is an oasis, sitting on the Barkly Highway which peels off the north/south Stuart Highway. We stopped for lunch and watched a family of bush cattle make themselves at home on the front lawn. I could almost hear the big bull say “look kids, I bought you and mum to a resort for your holidays, now tuck in at the all-you-can-eat buffet”.

We crossed into Queensland where the roads are poorer. We found another great campsite and were accompanied on a riverside walk by a Brolga, and we took part in a mining experience in Mount Isa where they served excellent sandwiches and pasties for afternoon tea. We missed the first half hour of the tour because we didn’t realise Northern Territories is half an hour ahead of Queensland. The obliging staff equipped us with orange overalls and safety boots, then chased the tour guide before the group descended underground.

We had travelled 1500km by the time we reached Mt Isa from Alice and after spending most of the day there we made ourselves at home at Mary Kathleen, or the remains of Mary Kathleen. It was the site of a uranium mine but all that was left was concrete slabs and a series of little roads where other campers made themselves at home under the gumtrees. (That clicking you hear isn’t a geiger, it is tinnitus!)

On our BIG BIG day we did 750 kms in 8 hours of engine time. We reached the cute town of Julia Creek just in time to catch the dunnart- feeding at the tourist centre. These particular dunnarts were thought extinct but are now being bred in captivity.  The cute little carnivorous marsupials can inflict a sharp bite and have to be kept separate as they fight to the death. We interrupted the wee chap having his workout on the treadmill for a meal of 3 mealyworms. He bit their heads off and feasted on them.

Julia Creek is a town of 400 that is a hub for pastoralists, a contrast to the other towns which have mining based economies. We saw cattle being herded by helicopter which we are told is preferable to the issues of employing men to do the job (HR in the outback!). Farms comprise of ‘downs’ and ‘bush’. Young cattle are grazed on the downs then moved into the bush area to fend for themselves for up to 10 years after they have calved for the first time.

Our plan is to head on to Townsville then down the coast to Brisbane, there are parts we have traveled before so we will visit some other spots this time.

Four tanks plus tractor unit

site of snake-spotting  It was 1.5m long and 90mm diameter

Red Centre in a Roomy Country

Three flights and two shuttles later in the same day we were in Alice Springs. We are embarking on a toe-dipper of a trip to the red centre of a very roomy country.

 My ankle is not up to much walking so we took a taxi from our hotel to the Alice Springs Telegraph Office where a ‘Mcleods Daughter’ look-alike showed us the original Alice Spring. A bit of a misnomer as it was a temporary waterhole and not a spring at all that was named after the original surveyor’s wife. We walked back to town along an excellent cycleway, stopping to return the stares of a couple of ‘roos, (slipping into local lingo here). The nearby sign warning us about dingos being active was a little disconcerting but we pressed on and found the only decent coffee house in town.

Our campervan for this 3 week trip is not nearly as well appointed as our Chausson. I can’t get into the fridge without standing on my head, space being so tight. Never mind, it has its own bathroom if you can fit into it.

The West Macdonnell ranges deserved some attention and we camped at National Park camps. The gorges didn’t exactly flow with water but there were waterholes and the ghost gums overhanging them gave them their iconic Aussie scenery stamp along with the big blue skies and red rocky backdrop. Our fellow campers were very friendly even though we were emblazoned with a Maui logo. Spinifex pigeons darted underneath our feet pecking at the crumbs from our hors d’doeuvres.

We took a trip to “Glen Helen” resort  to look at another gorge but the prospect of having to swim the icy waters to get to the beauty spot stopped that idea in its tracks. Glen Helen Resort looked as if it had enjoyed a previous life as a POW camp.

We called back at Alice on our way to Uluru. A mere 440 km away. We restocked the larder and showed ID at the wine shop, passing the friendly policeman on door duty as we clinked our way back to the van with lovely Aussie Shirazs stashed in our bags.

A bit of a drive but we were rewarded with the sight of a purple monolith rising from the plains in the setting sun. We stopped to take photos whilst enduring a fly-fight. The flies were winning, Stuart was doubled over after swallowing one. They were on my glasses and trying to crawl in our ears.  Retreat back to the van and back up the road to a campsite we passed 5km ago.  No flies! Phew! We researched our guidebook for the next day and discovered the fly battle had been fought while we photographed “Fool-uru”. It was Mt Connor doing a passable imitation of Uluru that was the battle-site.

Uluru itself was just like  the pictures and postcards. Close up it was quite magnificent and there was a serenity about it that the Aborigines must treasure also. There was no rubble around the base, just a sheer pitted rock rising from the graceful gums and greenery that surround it.

The scenery along the roads is ever changing but there is a consistent theme of trees and vegetation specially adapted to life in a dry climate. We traveled through stands of Mulga and desert oaks as well as past wild flowers blooming in swathes amongst the spinifex.

The Olgas (Kata Tjata) are red rounded rock monoliths standing shoulder to shoulder about 50km from Uluru. After an unexpected (for me) tramp around their perimeter we headed 300km to Kings Canyon where another tramp was planned. It was my turn to drive and I took care to return the waves from fellow campers as I drove, these varied from sublime one finger lifts to something that looked like ‘Heil Hitler’.

We stayed at Kings Canyon resort paying $40 to park on an unpowered site surrounded by moon dust, but there is no overnighting in the National Park. The entrance to the shower block has strong high wooden gates and although we didn’t see dingos we saw their calling cards the next morning. I had a shower during daylight hours just to be certain!

The trek around Kings Canyon was a lovely trip and not difficult when fortified with Voltaren, glad I did it. Back in the van with Stuart fussing about solar charging, waste disposal … some things don’t change …. and on our way back through Alice up to Tennant Creek. Timing is crucial though, the wine shops don’t open until 2pm and beer is ‘too expensive”.